


In Dignity

by RhetoricFemme



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - Beatniks and Artists, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bertholdt is a painter fashioned after Asher Lev, DID I JUST MAKE A PUN, I kind of think Armin belongs in the Burroughs family, Jean is a writer, M/M, Marco is a slam poet, Not literally, Reiner is Jack Kerouac, if Eren ever makes it in here he's Neal Cassady, kill your darlings au, loosely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 03:59:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7919704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricFemme/pseuds/RhetoricFemme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschstein is a young man navigating collegiate life in the 1950s. Internally defiant, he searches tirelessly for the balance between solace and pushing the boundaries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dignity

**Author's Note:**

> Hello.
> 
> Okay, so I started this story close to two years ago, shortly after watching an amazing movie called Kill Your Darlings. I could ramble about how much I love this literary period, or I can leave it at that. It took a long time for this story to work itself out for me, and I'm really excited to begin posting it. 
> 
> Big Note: There are couple of italicized quotes, and they're from a poem called [Howl, by Allen Ginsberg.](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/49303) <3
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! And if you'd oblige an anxious writer with your thoughts in the comments, I'd deeply appreciate it!

**Spring 1956 - One Season Pre-College**

* * *

 

 

Droll, that’s what this was. Droll, mind-numbing walk-throughs of buildings that for the most part meant nothing to him. Boastful trivia regarding a university seemingly arrogant about all the wrong things. This orientation was the dullest, most uninspired American thing Jean had ever seen.

Walking as slow as he dare go, Jean trailed the tail end of his group, lamenting that he would be required to sign off on his attendance, but momentarily relishing that the tour had temporarily stopped to show off the library.

Back in Trost, even the most extensive of the city’s libraries could not have been half the size of this. Here, the shelves stood with purpose, the spines of history’s loudest mouths holding fast to their pages, lying in wait to see who would be next to read their lines.

“What’s on the second floor?”

“Excuse me?”

“Library’s got two floors, doesn’t it?” Jean waved a copy of his campus map for everyone to see, confirming what the other students had seemingly overlooked. “So what’s up there? Reference? Microfiche?”

“It’s restricted, actually.” Saying as much caused their guide, another student whose blond hair could outcompete the sun, to drop his voice in poorly disguised disappointment.

“Restricted.” Jean slowly repeated.

The guide nodded, the plastic smile on his face not fooling anyone. Anyone who might bother to notice, anway.

“Then what’s the point?”

“All good things in time, I suppose. Unfortunately, that’s a topic for another time.” Moving the students forward, he deflected away from Jean’s questions, instead focusing on Sina University’s grand privilege to have been entrusted to care for certain relics of literary sanctity.

It was on the tip of Jean’s tongue to implore further; to find out what this kid could possibly know about literary sanctity, only to find a domineering voice beat him to it.

“Why don’t you tell them, Armin?”

“Reiner…”

Such a chipper baritone, the imposing figure known as Reiner had hoisted himself onto a study table; the textbooks and notes moving beneath his feet while he continued to speak decibels above what might be thought acceptable.

“Go ahead, Arlert! This is _your_ tour! Tell the incoming academicians what they can find on the second floor.” Despite having a domineering physique, and the fact that he was now pacing back and forth across a library table, Reiner managed to come off altogether amiable. “Actually, tell them what they _won’t_ find, since the administration of this institution has classified the entire floor a cesspool of pseudo-sciences and sexual deviancy.”

Well, if nothing else, _that_ managed to grab the rest of the group’s attention. Confused faces looked first toward each other, then to Armin before settling back on Reiner.

Amidst the growing audience and occasional looks of ire, the older boy caught Jean’s stares with convicting blue eyes. It was quite possible that Reiner had noticed Jean first, most likely out of the fact that Jean had yet to roll his eyes or look away in disgust for his random act of disruption.

Not even once Reiner launched into what sounded like some kind of poem, the newness of its taboo edges not lost on Jean as the other man bit into each of the words.

_“…my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked…”_

“Reiner, you’re going to—“

“Come on, say it with me, Armin!” Reiner has a million dollar smile, the sort that is near impossible to deny, though somehow Armin manages.  Reiner points an accusatory finger at his classmate and smiles even brighter. “I know you know the words!”

“Reiner—“

_“…expelled from the academies for crazy…”_

He makes it several heartbeats further into the poem before the addition of campus security brings a new level of madness to the scene. Reiner considers his afternoon a success when several students, once hunched over textbooks, stand in applause at their desks as their seemingly lewd classmate prepares to make his way for the exit.

Alas. Reiner Braun is not attending Sina U. on a football scholarship for nothing. In the seconds he has before security attempt to pull him away, he doubles back into the room, megaphone lungs blurting epiphanies for the masses, and he throws a wink toward Jean before finally bolting for the door.

“I’ll see all you imploring minds tonight, at Kefka’s!”

And with that, Reiner is gone, taking all the pomp and audacity of his one-man show with him. No longer needed, it takes less than a minute for campus security to disperse, and perhaps a moment longer for their riled tour guide to reclaim his bearings.

The day can go on.

The group is nearly clear of the staircase leading to the second floor, when intrigued, Jean throws himself alongside the kid he now knows to call Armin Arlert.

“Hey, who is Kafka? Like, Kafka, Kafka?”

“Not really, no. And it’s not who, it’s what. And it’s Kefka with an _e_. It’s a hole-in-the-wall downtown, with surprisingly decent coffee.” Armin speaks to Jean with something a little friendlier than indifference, though he avoids making eye contact in favor of smiling and nodding to all the correct people they run into along the way.

“If you decide to come to Sina, and if you’re actually interested in the second floor, you’ll probably want to try going there, first.” Armin finally turns and offers a sincere smile to Jean.

Once he’s certain Jean isn’t about to be scared off by a sudden rush of blood to the head.

 

**One Year Later  
End of Freshman Year**

* * *

 

He waits for it. Tearing away at a hangnail, trying to pay more attention to the piece of dead skin than the knowing, feux-plead adorning Reiner’s face. It’s not as if they really believe he _won’t_ do it.

 _For the sake of literary integrity_ , is what Reiner had said, fist clutched dramatically against his chest before slamming it obnoxiously onto the polished oak desk they all shared.

_What good are those books doing behind glass, or locked up in the back of some utility room?_

Well, Jean had to agree. None.

Joyce hadn’t written Ulysses only to have it stew in legal proceedings for alleged obscenity, ultimately to wind up acquired by a stuffy university intent on hiding the book from what basically amounted to literary virgins.

Likewise, Jean hadn’t taken to this small circle only out of friendship, unspoken yearn, or the chance to cram around paper-littered coffee tables. He’d like to think that in the tangled ethereal mess of _right now_ , that there would be something to show for it in the long run.

But then, was _this_ all he would have to show for it?

Jean sighed. “Why does it have to be me?”

“You’re the Freshman.” Reiner drawled quietly, almost seductively. “They won’t know you like they would Bertl or me. Besides, we’ll be the ones doing the dirty work.”

“Excuse you.”  Jean turned his head toward Marco, indignation in his voice ringing clear. “If Jean flirting with the librarian while I steal a mold of her keys isn’t dirty work, then what _would_ you call it?”

“Precursor to righteous insanity?”

“Uh huh.” Marco closed the cover to an old, worn out notebook to signal that he was ready to get on with it.

“Need I mention,” Jean huffs vehemently, “I’ve been at this school—in this library—for the entire year?”

“Whatever.”

“So are we doing this?” It’s not that Bertholdt is or isn’t a quiet person. He can, however, be counted on to always know what is the right thing to say.

“We are.” Reiner confirmed. “Marco will go browse through the stacks and wait, and you, Jean. You’re gonna go kiss yourself a girl.”

Nearly an entire year of schlepping around the university together, and for some reason Reiner still seemed to behave like he was doing Jean a favor. Even when he knew better. Even when he was the first one to cordially invite Jean out to Kefka’s, or any number of after parties where myriad indulgences and vices were at his disposal, only to realize just how rare it was for Jean to chase anyone or anything down the rabbit hole.

Despite knowing all this, Reiner was still quick to throw an arm around Jean’s shoulder and never hesitated to invite him back.

Now, Jean glanced toward Bertholdt sitting beside him, quiet as ever but no less engaged in the task at hand. Peering over top of his book, he offered Jean a knowing, appreciative smile, which somehow managed to leave him a little less effected.

“Alright.” Standing up, Jean ran an exasperated hand through already mussed hair. “I’m out of here.”

Ignoring Reiner’s punch to the arm, he slowly directed himself toward the help desk. Despite himself, it was still difficult for Jean to ignore that growing sense of camaraderie.

Three sets of eyes follow him anxiously across the library, three minds whirring as they send their still too-fresh friend to set off the first of several cogs in the small machine which they’ve taken the time to set so meticulously.


End file.
